


Tug Of War

by undeadstoryteller



Series: VampGhost [1]
Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M, blackinfanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadstoryteller/pseuds/undeadstoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell/Annie oneshot that takes place the morning after the end of episode 3.3 (Type 4), at the beginning of their romantic vamp/ghost relationship. Mitchell's third-person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug Of War

Everything was different now. As he lay in bed, Mitchell felt a strange tug-of-war inside him between the crushing guilt of keeping Annie in the dark about what really happened in Purgatory, about Lia and the wolf-shaped bullet and Box Tunnel 20, and a feeling of euphoria, of letting go of his fears – not just of admitting his feelings for Annie, but, in a way, of accepting that he wasn't human. He had often struggled with the idea that Annie could be more than a friend to him, even as his thoughts drifted to her late at night. Being with a ghost would make him too… _supernatural_. It was why he'd never wanted a vampire woman. To succeed at being human meant being loved by a human. Only it never really worked out that way. Not for long, anyway. Annie, though, she was right for him, and he'd been too stubborn to really see it. In two years, he'd never craved blood when he was with her. She didn't have any to tempt him with, of course, but it was more than that. Sometimes he even forgot about the bloodlust with her, forgot things like secretly holding onto vampire porn.

And then he would leave the house and go and fuck everything up again. Maybe if he stayed clean from now on, from now until forever, the massacre would become one of those long-distant memories that Annie could file away as the act of a different man, an incomplete stranger who only existed before he knew her. But that would never be true, no matter how much time passed. And time was one thing he didn't have anymore.

She had the right to know. But there was no way, no way in hell, he was going to let her know now. He got what he wanted, even if he had to let her believe a lie to get it, and he wasn't going to let her go for anything.

There was a tap on his cracked-open door.

"Yeah?" Mitchell knew it had to be George or Nina. Annie didn't knock.

George popped his head in. "We're heading out to work. You're not on for today?"

"No," Mitchell said. "I only have two days this week."

"I'll have Nina talk to them about that."

Mitchell shrugged. "I don't mind working part time."

"Well, of course you don't," George said. "Everyone would work part time if they could."

Mitchell nodded. "Yeah." George was confusing his valid desire not to spend eight hours a day around humans with laziness, but it wasn't worth an argument.

George nodded back. "You OK, Mitchell?"

"I'm good."

"OK," George said. "You looked a little… wigged out last night."

"'Wigged out'?"

"Yeah, you know… wigged out."

"I was just tired."

"So there's nothing… weird…"

"Nope."

"OK," George said. "OK, well, do you want me to pick anything up after work?"

"How are we for milk?"

"Are you planning on eating three bowls of Cornflakes when you get up?"

"At least."

"Then we'll need milk."

Mitchell gave him a thumbs-up. "Thanks, buddy." He sat up.

"Oh, and Annie is acting super-domestic this morning," George said. "Just a warning."

"I can handle it." He leaned down and grabbed his jeans from the floor.

* * *

Annie's expression when he walked into the kitchen said it all: ever since the door slammed behind George and Nina as they left for work, they were alone in the house. They'd been alone hundreds of times, but this time, it was different. It was a little weird.

"I know you don't like a fancy breakfast," she said, setting a bowl on the table for him. "Do you want coffee?" She looked flustered. "I mean, of course you want coffee…" She turned and pulled a mug from the cupboard.

It was a moment before Mitchell realized he didn't have to suppress the urge to embrace her anymore when she was being adorable. He stepped up behind her and put his arms around her. She let out a small gasp. He held her tighter, his arms crossing across her stomach.

He pushed her hair back behind her ear and kissed her cheek, along her jawline. After a few seconds, he whispered, "can you feel that?"

She ran her cool fingers across his arms. It felt like an autumn breeze. "Um… well, I know you're doing it," she said. "I can feel… it's more like I can sense it… "

He nodded. "It's… different." He let her hair fall back in place. "I wish –"

He stopped himself. _What is wrong with you?_ He thought. _Don't tell her you wish she had a body. That's a horrible thing to say!_

She turned to face him, his arms still around her. With no friction, it was a strange sensation. "What do you wish?"

It was an easy save. "I wish it could be like this all the time," he said. "Just you and me."

"I think I'd really miss George and Nina," she said, smiling.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. He had to keep his eyes open a bit, to watch what he was doing, or they might not line up right. It took some getting used to. She felt good – really good – but it wasn't physically arousing, which felt off and a bit frustrating. Not as frustrating as getting hot and bothered and not being able to do anything about it, to be sure, but it was a bit torturous, mainly because he could tell it frustrated Annie. It was if she caused a reverse effect on him: he felt calmer and his breathing seemed to slow rather than quicken. In truth, it was just what he needed, but Annie, he could tell, wanted _passion_.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him, touching her lips with her fingertips. "I wish I had a body," she said.

"No," he said, genuinely opposed, hearing her say it. "I don't. You wouldn't be you."

"We could have sex," she said matter-of-factly, never one to tiptoe around the elephant in the room.

He turned and sat down at the table.

"I mean, unless I'm misreading all of this…"

"You're not," he said. He poured himself a bowl of cereal. "I don't know. This is all new to me. We just… we'll figure it out."

She set a cup of coffee in front of him. "I just don't want you to feel… cheated."

He looked at her. She had no idea how lucky he felt to have her, how much he really didn't deserve her. Cheated? He'd give up anything for her, sex included. But he didn't feel ready to say it. "I don't feel cheated," he said.

"Well," she said, sitting across from him, "maybe we could try."

"Anything you want."

She smiled, and wrinkled her nose. "Is this a weird conversation?"

"Very," he laughed. "We should have had it a long time ago. Things would be different."

She nodded slowly, thinking. "Different how?"

He swallowed. "Hm? Oh, I mean, we might have stayed in Bristol, if, you know, you hadn't gone through that door…"

"Oh, don't blame yourself for that, Mitchell," she said. "Besides, I like it here. There were too many bad vibes in the old house. Sometimes I felt like Owen was haunting me, even though he wasn't dead. Here it's like, there's no dark cloud hovering over us. You know?"

He nodded. The guilt was starting to win in the tug-of-war. "Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean."


End file.
